


and off you go

by heartunsettledsoul



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Pre-Canon, bughead - Freeform, pining Jughead, the pre canon angst is so real
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-05-16 23:51:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14821251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartunsettledsoul/pseuds/heartunsettledsoul
Summary: The look on her face is so earnest as she leans over the rickety desk in a defunct school newspaper office. Betty Cooper, asking him to help her revive a dying art form at a high school where nobody gives a shit about anything, let alone print journalism.Betty Cooper, asking him to spend infinitely more time with him. In a crappy, poorly lit room in Riverdale High. Asking him to investigate a murder with her. Calling him Juggie. Saying, “Nothing ever bad was supposed to happen here, but it did. And I want to know why,” so softly and genuinely that there was never any way Jughead would say no.or, it could be so simple for Jughead to tell Betty how he feels.





	and off you go

**Author's Note:**

> to set the scene/mood, I highly recommend listening to Simple as 123 by Jukebox the Ghost before or while reading

_And when you feel your pulse_  
_Knock you over like an animal_  
_Oh, then you know  
A deep breath and off you go_

_It's as simple as a girl in a corner_  
_1-2-3_  
_It's as simple as a boy in a corner_  
_When he wants the same thing_  
_It's as simple as walking over_  
_And saying something_  
_Quick, before the chance is over  
Here you go_

 

* * *

 

There’s a lot you see when you stick to the shadows, just on the outskirts of all the action. Jughead Jones spends his time in the blindspot of those around him, as a flicker of movement that is barely acknowledged because too much is going on in-frame. From the periphery in life, he’s witnessed a lot of things because those in the middle of it all were too caught up to realize his existence: the way his mother would turn on the faucet in the bathroom to muffle her crying after his dad stumbled home late with liquor on his breath, the underlying ripple of tension in the Andrews household once he and Archie hit age 12 and Mrs. Andrews started smiling the way his own mom did, the way Betty Cooper curled her hands into fists after Chuck Clayton snapped her bra strap in the seventh grade and made a crass joke about not needing to cover anything.

 

(He also noticed the tighter fit of Betty’s rainbowed assortment of pastel shirts when the following spring brought warmer weather and they all shed their winter coats—Betty’s pink and new that year, Jughead’s a hand-me-down from their neighbors that smelled like wet dog—and suddenly Betty _did_ have something to cover. It also pained him to bear witness to the crestfallen look on Betty’s face when she overhears Archie saying, about her in response to Reggie Mantle as they leave the boys’ locker room, that he’s never really looked at her _that way_ , _she’s basically his sister.)_

 

Jughead always had the unique ability to blend into his background, make himself take up as little space and make as little noise as possible until eventually nobody remembers he was even there to begin with. He develops a knack for it after FP discovers how cathartic it is to chuck empty beer bottles at the thin walls of their trailer. He even teaches Jellybean the little kid version of it, challenging her to “the quiet game” when they’d hide away during another family fight—they had to remain as quiet as they could, but Jughead would pull crazy faces and tickle her sides until she couldn’t help but laugh.

 

Neither of his parents ever get upset with Jellybean for making noise anyway, so his little sister is always safe. They reserve their child-directed tempers for Jughead, Gladys snapping at him for constantly growing out of his sneakers or for forgetting to pick Jelly up from a playdate because he got caught up playing Jedi Knights with Archie and Betty, or FP yelling simply because he was there.

 

So he gets good at becoming invisible: pinching shoes from the Goodwill and saying Archie grew past his size and offered them to him, making peanut butter and fluff sandwiches for him and Jelly every morning before school, discretely dumping some of their recycling into the Topazes’ bins so nobody saw how much beer the Jones patriarch went through on a weekly basis.

 

Jughead gets so good, in fact, that his mother forgets about him altogether when she packs a bag and buys only two bus tickets to Toledo from Riverdale. After that, FP is a little more subdued and stops yelling as much. He even leaves a twenty dollar bill on the kitchen table for Jughead with a sticky note reading “get yourself some Pop’s for dinner, kid” with a sloppy smiley face.

 

It’s then, at the ripe age of fourteen, that Jughead first takes advantage of the diner’s 24/7 business hours, getting two burgers and a milkshake and a cup of bitter coffee he dumps four packets of sugar into first. He sits tucked into a corner booth, sipping on coffee refills and observing the world around him.

 

He feels more comfortable this way, watching the comings and goings of Riverdale with the jingle of the front door and time only passing in increments of Pop’s fresh brews of coffee.        

 

Regardless of the heartbreak he sees or the whispers he hears when people don’t see him, Jughead prefers his place firmly outside of the active world. At best, he could be called a wallflower; at worst, the creepy loner weirdo.

 

He’s probably okay with either one.

.

.

.

To their credit, Archie and Betty are the sole reasons Jughead hasn’t faded into complete oblivion by the time high school rolls around. He is grateful for their friendship most days, but some days he wishes their boundless cheeriness would just leave him the hell alone.

 

He gets his wish the last weeks of summer into the first week of school, Archie lost to the weeks-long process of football tryouts and Betty to whatever kind of pre-high school guilt fest Alice Cooper is inflicting on her youngest daughter. They’d spent a blissful summer free of teenage responsibilities: he and Archie on a quest to try every menu item at Pop’s at least once, Betty bringing him entire batches of baked goods when she got bored but Mrs. Cooper had banned sugar from her diet, begrudgingly dragged to the rope swing at Sweetwater River (only bearable because Betty refused to swim when the popular hang spot was filled with older kids and instead read in the shade with him), and taking Vegas to the dog park as often as the weather allowed.

 

Jughead strictly refuses to admit any age-old adages are right, but _you don’t know what you had until it’s gone_ feels apropos. (It never felt quite right in regard to his mother’s absence, nor to Jellybean being caught in the crosshairs. Because Gladys Jones was never really _there_ to begin with and Jughead already had cherished every single moment spent with his baby sister.)

 

So he sits alone, once again, in a corner booth at Pop’s to order his favorite onion rings instead of something new with his cup of coffee and simply watches. Since he first started these long stints at Pop’s, Jughead filled over a dozen notebooks with idle commentary on meal choices, people’s clothing, made-up backstories for the occasional passers-through, and several crossed out poems that were too melodramatic to exist, even by his standards.

 

By some small miracle, his two friends remember their standing tradition of getting late-night milkshakes the evening before the first day of school. It’s nice to have them all squished into a booth together, even if there are subtle changes that weren’t there the in the weeks following their last day at Riverdale Middle School—Archie orders two plain burger patties to go with his shake because “Protein, man. I need to bulk up if I have a shot at JV over the freshman team,” and Betty orders the saddest looking single scoop of vanilla ice cream on the planet.

 

There are so many things he wants to say to her in that moment— _come on Betty it’s tradition_ and _you know neither of us will tattle to your mom_ and _I hope she doesn’t make you see yourself this way forever_ —but instead uses a spoon to deposit half of his shake’s whipped cream into her dish before she refuses.

 

“No give-backs, Betts,” he grins.    

 

The tiny smile Betty gives him in return is enough to light up the dim, neon glow of the diner in sunshine.

 

Jughead isn’t sure when exactly he started to calibrate his moods to Betty’s, though maybe it was when he got her to laugh at a terrible joke he made about Reggie being likely to mix up their summer reading of _Slaughterhouse Five_ with some horror movie called _Murder Home Seven._ The resounding giggle-turned-snorting-laughter was such a delightful sound and the immediate relaxing effect it had on Betty was enough to make Jughead hope there’s always something he can do to put Betty Cooper in a better mood.

 

When she smiles, he does. Everyone should, too. It’s not rocket science: Betty is the most genuine, earnestly sweet person he has ever met and every person who meets her should care about her happiness.  

 

In that initial assumption, though, Jughead forgets to account for the viciousness of teenage girls. That reality brings him crashing back to earth when he finds Betty on the front steps of Riverdale High a few days later, well after the final bell has let out. The first thing he notices is that she’s wearing workout gear and that her legs look even longer than usual in the slender leggings.

 

The second thing is that she’s crying.

 

He has seen Betty cry before, of course. It’s a byproduct of growing up with your best friends; he, Archie, and Betty have all seen each other cry at one time or another, over a skinned knee or broken toy or broken home. Betty’s tears became more reserved as they inched toward adolescence, minimized to watery eyes and a trembling lip but nothing more. As of late, Betty is so skilled that unless you _had_ known her since the sandbox days, you wouldn’t realize that the biting of her bottom lip and the tensing of her fists means she is reigning in a maelstrom of emotions.

 

Betty is as adept at hiding her publicly inappropriate feelings as Jughead is at being invisible.

 

Which is precisely why Jughead is so startled to see her openly sobbing. At the high school no less. He is so caught off guard that his own powers falter and Betty whips around at the footsteps behind her. Her green eyes could always be described as doe-like, but in this instance she truly looks like a deer headlights, terrified at what is to come.

 

Though they’re still shaking from repressed sobs, Betty’s shoulder visibly relax when she sees that it’s just Jughead.

 

 _Just Jughead,_ he grimly thinks to himself.

 

But at least Betty Cooper trusts _just Jughead_ enough to let him rub a reassuring hand over her shoulder while she cries until she doesn’t have any tears left. As soon as they stop flowing, Betty sits up straighter and starts swiping at her cheeks which only succeeds in spreading the dark flecks of mascara she is trying to clean up.

 

In a flash, Jughead lifts his hand to clear away one of the darkest smudges, not even thinking beyond the fact that Betty needed help and that he needed to be the one to assist. But she looks at him curiously before his thumb can even reach the smooth skin of her cheek and he drastically changes course. Moving in wrist-first, he offers the cuff of his flannel to her.

 

She accepts it with a grateful, albeit watery, smile and dabs at her eyes for a few moments before letting him take his arm back. When she releases him, he’s dying to place his hand on her shoulder again in comfort, or even her knee, or _hell,_ what if he just held her hand, but then she opens her mouth to say something and he freezes. Classic.

 

“I, um, I tried out for the River Vixens,” says Betty quietly. “It seemed like a good way to make friends and I’ve always wanted to be a cheerleader like Polly and I’m not a half-bad dancer, but…” She clears her throat a few times, as though trying not to choke on the next part of her story. It comes out in a rush before she dissolves into tears again.

 

“But Polly wasn’t even _there_ and I guess Cheryl Blossom doesn’t like her, or me, and, um, I did my portion of the tryouts and then she said she was doing the first round of cuts but that there was only one cut to make and it was me because I was too plain and too fat to disgrace the uniform. And then something about Betty Draper I think but I was already running out by then.”

 

When Betty smiles, Jughead smiles. And when Betty is crying, Jughead feels a pain deep in his chest. Because Betty does not deserve any kind of cruelty.

 

Least of all, painfully _incorrect_ cruelty. At least when Jughead gets called names and taunted, it’s accurate. The only kind of accurate bullying Betty could credibly receive is that her ponytail might be too tight or her buttercream frosting a little too sweet. Betty is by no means plain and absolutely is nowhere _close_ to anything that could be called fat.

 

Her smile lights up a room and her hair reflects the sunshine perfectly and _yes,_ Jughead maybe pays a little too much attention to how she now fills out her sweaters or how her legs look in those workout leggings but it’s only because she is steadfastly _beautiful._ And anyone who can’t see that is an idiot.

 

Those words fall out of his mouth before he can stop himself. He’s reached “idiot” and moves onto “cruel, uncalled for, kind of a huge bitch,” and is so, so infinitesimally close to “you’re so beautiful Betty please do not believe her,” but they die on his tongue. The beautiful girl in question is peering at him from where her head hangs in her hands, eyes blinking with tears again and Jughead wants to sink into the ground. He’s said the wrong thing. He’s made her cry.

 

He is halfway into, “Shit, no I’m sorry,” when he comes grinding to a halt because Betty Cooper—beautiful, kind, _Betty freakin’ Cooper_ —kisses him on the cheek.

 

“Thank you, Juggie,” she whispers before standing up and walking away, if not with confidence, then at least with purpose.

 

Gobsmacked, all Jughead can do is stare after her. Maybe he _should_ have finished saying what he wanted to.

.

.

.

Freshman year is an experience. Archie makes JV, Betty throws herself into dance committee instead of the River Vixens, and Jughead carries on as he always does—doing the bare minimum to get through and spending all his time focusing on the world around him.

 

Jughead wants to write a novel. Riverdale is just too damn boring for any kind of inspiration. The greats all say to write what you know but he is still firmly ingrained in the world of growing up poor with an alcoholic father and mother who didn’t care about him. Maybe it’ll make a world-shattering memoir later, but Jughead wants at least a decade of separation and perhaps several years of therapy under his belt before even _thinking_ of touching it.

 

So he muddles through the first of the so-called wonder years _,_ watching Archie start to build muscle and use his Bulldogs jacket to gain a leg up on his girl-crazy habits. And subsequently watching Betty bit her lip and feign interest each time Archie goes on about date prospects, zeroing in on the way her shoulders sag and eyes look tearful.

 

Betty fools nobody _except_ Archie in hiding her crush on the ginger golden boy.

 

(Theoretically, Archie might be the _younger_ ginger golden boy, but Jason Blossom is neither golden in temperament nor a boy in attitude. At least Archie retains some childlike innocence in his womanizing. And does not spend any time at all shoving hat-wearing weirdos into lockers. Not that Jughead has strong feelings on the matter. Not at all.)

 

Despite Archie’s growing social circle, he still finds time for milkshakes at Pop’s and Saturday night movies with Jughead and Betty. Betty, in her endless bubbly personality, has not made much of an effort in making more friends than their circle of three and Kevin, the Sheriff’s kid, who she’s found a kindred spirit in. (Though she would never admit it out loud, the Vixens tryout disaster did a number on her, and she seems perfectly content to never put herself in such a vulnerable position ever again.)

 

Jughead doesn’t love that Kevin Keller has joined their Three Musketeers’ traditions, but he supposes it’s better than Archie and Betty disappearing from his life altogether. Kevin shares his love of onion rings, though, so he isn’t all bad. And he’ll usually buy the movie snacks as a thank you for letting him join them all in the projection booth at the Twilight Drive-in.

 

There are probably worse ways to spend freshman year of high school.

 

Like being dragged to terrible Bulldog keggers.

 

Archie has extended the invite to Jughead each weekend, and each weekend Jughead has gently, but firmly said _no fucking way._ Betty and Kevin took him up on the offer approximately twice all year, both of them calling each experience as a complete and utter shitshow they would prefer to not repeat.

 

But Archie is citing all their refusals and their respective busy summer plans as reason why they _absolutely without a doubt_ need to indulge him for the football team’s summer kick-off party. Betty feels too guilty to say no and wherever Betty goes, Kevin goes, so Jughead is once again the odd man out. And he is more than okay with that in this instance. He has his two friends and one tolerable acquaintance, but he still spends the majority of his time alone.

 

(He’s _really_ alone now. Because the second Jellybean’s school year was over, his mother packed a few measly suitcases and took off. Jughead only knew it was happening because Jellybean snuck into his room to tackle him awake, like always, the morning they left.

 

“Mom says we’re going to visit Gramma in Ohio for a few weeks and that you can’t come yet because you’re not done at school.” Jughead was only half-conscious and not aware enough to second-guess the story. If he had, he would have squeezed his little sister into a bear hug and never let go. She shoved a wrinkled sticky note into his hand, whispering excitedly, “I made my own email! So we can still talk in case you or Mom run out of phone minutes!”

 

She was off in a flash, sending a toothy grin over her shoulder and waving goodbye. It wasn’t until he trudged through the door after school that day that Jughead saw the note left for his father, who was still passed out on the couch. Gladys _needed some time to think_ and would be spending the summer at her mother’s _._

 

Nothing in the note surprised him but the _Jelly still has a chance to get through this unscathed_ is a light punch to the throat. Apparently he’s already damaged goods.)  

 

With his family in tatters, Betty leaving for a months-long internship, and Archie working for Fred, Jughead is already mentally prepared for a summer of solitude. He’ll drink coffee and try to think of a better idea for a novel and keep teaching himself to drive stick so he and Archie can take the Fourth of July road trip they’ve been talking about.

 

It’ll be a little lonely, but he’ll be fine.

 

He even thinks, half-heartedly, that time alone might help quash the ever-multiplying butterflies in the pit of his stomach that swell up every time he’s in proximity to Betty. Because it’s only a matter of time before Archie comes to his senses and sees Betty for the wonder that she is, and they’ll become the girl-next-door/boy-next-door cliche they’ve always been destined to be.

 

But then Betty pouts at him, pleading, “Come on Juggie, one party? I won’t see you guys all summer!” and who is he to refuse a well-meaning Betty Cooper when half the time all he wants to _do_ is anything that would make her smile.

 

He _has_ been making her smile a lot lately, whether it’s a reassuring bump of her shoulder when Archie is rambling about a girl, or tossing a couple of fries onto the side of her depressing salad or grilled chicken at Pop’s, or sharing a table at the library while they quietly work on separate homework assignments. (It’s his favorite, though, when they’re working on the same assignments because listening to Betty get so worked up about the blatant sexism in _The Great Gatsby_ that she rewrites her entire essay the day before it’s due and helping her find relevant passages was probably the highlight of his entire semester.)

 

Because, as per usual, when Betty smiles, he smiles. She does seem to be catching on, though, because she once elbowed him during lunch to say, “Y’know, Jug, I assumed high school might make you more of a grouch but you’re surprisingly zen about it.”

 

He jokes back, “Well maybe it’s just fourteen years of your endless positivity finally rubbing off on me.” Jughead really wanted to say, _well it’s because you’re happy and I’m definitely, kind of in love with you,_ but Kevin had raised a curious eyebrow and Jughead vowed to keep that shit locked down much better.

 

Betty is smiling that smile at him and he fucking _hates_ the idea of being at a football team party but if it means spending a little more time with her before she leaves for the summer, then so be it. He lets himself be dragged to his first high school kegger and after approximately thirty seconds there, Jughead immediately regrets it.

 

Archie is gone in the blink of an eye, letterman jacket blending into the sea of blue and gold. Betty and Kevin look equally overwhelmed, Betty clinging desperately to Kevin’s arm and looking relatively uncomfortable in a short skirt she must have stolen from Polly.

 

It looks good on her, showing off her long legs, but she keeps tugging self-consciously at the hemline. She still looks very Betty, in a light blue tee and her signature ponytail, but the un-Betty-like skirt and show of legs seems to be catching the attention of more than just Jughead. He feels a gross, protective instinct to keep her out of the sightline of trailing douchebro eyes, but—even if she doubts it herself—Betty is capable of standing her ground and Jughead swallows thickly.

 

Kevin carefully pries one of Betty’s hands off him with the reassurance that he’ll get them drinks and be right back. “Just a Coke!” she calls weakly after him.

 

And then Betty is clinging to him and he can almost hear the blood rushing in his ears over the loud bass of whatever god awful music is playing. With as much self control as he can muster, Jughead squeezes a hand over Betty’s. “I can go find us sodas,” he murmurs, telling himself that the music is too loud _not_ to be speaking directly into her ear.

 

Betty’s eyes widen in alarm and it’s then that Jughead notices she’s done something different with her makeup. Little points of dark eyeliner wing out from the corners of her eyes and it makes the green sparkle a bit more than usual. She really does look so good—really, _really_ hot, if he’s letting himself be a caveman tonight. “Please don’t leave me alone!” she hisses frantically.

 

Even though he knows it’s only because Betty doesn’t want to get swept away in a crowd of beer-fueled chaos, Jughead can’t help but swell with pride that she’s choosing to glue herself to his side and not Kevin’s. “Okay,” he placates. “Let’s just find a corner or something and wait for Kevin.”

 

Betty rolls her eyes and snorts. “Knowing him, he’s probably forgotten about drinks and is in a hallway making out with a guy by now.” As she talks, Jughead tries to steer them through the mass of bodies and into a small wedge of wall space that is just wide enough for them to slip into. “I say we clock another twenty minutes, find Archie for two so he remembers we showed up for him, and then get the hell out of here.”

 

He grins at her, leaning closer again to shout over the music. “I like the way you think, Cooper.” Unless he’s sorely mistaken, Jughead detects a hint of pink high on her cheeks when she smiles back.

 

They lean against the wall in companionable silence for a few minutes while Jughead comtemplates this entire situation. While it’s true that for as few friends Jughead has, Betty is in the same boat despite being infinitely more likeable and normal. But she still asked _him_ to come to a terrible party, knowing their friends would ditch them anyway and they would be alone in a sea of drunk high schoolers. They’re just a boy and a girl in a corner at a party.

 

He knows there’s a snowball’s chance in hell that Betty feels the same way for him as he does for her; Betty’s crush on Archie is about as subtle as a punch to the face. But still. It makes him wonder.

 

Eventually, Betty leans over to make a game out of people watching with him. They take bets on which girl in too-high heels will fall over first, which Bulldog is going to spill his drink on a Vixen, how long it will take for anyone to notice them hiding in a corner.

 

Jughead loses that bet quickly—assuming the answer to be _never—_ when Reggie Mantle comes stumbling over to them with an arm slung around Jason Blossom. “Oh look!” he cries, as beer sloshes out of his red solo cup. “It’s the resident weirdo and everyone’s favorite piece of jailbait. Nice legs, mini Coop, did you steal your sister’s shit to snag your own redhead?”

 

Betty turns beet red and out of the corner of his eye sees her hands curl into fists. To his minimal credit, Jason shoves Reggie a little in response. “Come on man, leave her alone, it’s my girlfriend’s little sister.” Reggie rolls his eyes and stops talking, but the moment Jason turns around he starts in again.

 

“When are ya gonna give it up, mini Coop? You’re a hot piece of ass and all, but we all know Andrews is down to clown with every other girl but you.” Reggie takes a deep drag from his cup while Jughead gently places his hand on Betty’s shoulder. She’s biting her bottom lip and staring intently at the floorboards. He’s about to suggest they bail early when Reggie crows, “And you! Jonesy, Jonesy, Jonesy. I’m surprised you even know what a party is, you freak. Shouldn’t you be off writing your serial killer manifesto or something?”

 

Jughead sighs. “It’s usually anarchists with manifestos, Reggie. Not that you would know that because when was the last time you paid attention in class, kindergarten?”

 

Through her bitten lip, Betty giggles a little and Jughead is overcome with joy. He’s so distracted by the feeling he gets when Betty smiles or laughs at something he said, in fact, that he blanks out for a moment and comes aware to, “I mean _god,_ Jughead, are you expecting her to open her legs for you just because Archie doesn’t want to spread them himself?”

 

Jughead’s reaction is one of sheer instinct, fists balled up and striding forward to punch the _shit_ out of Reggie—not out of an chauvinistic need to protect Betty but out of sheer anger that Reggie thinks it’s okay to talk to _anybody_ that way. (And, okay, a little bit out of wanting to do right by Betty.)

 

He needn’t have prepared to clock him, though, because Betty beats him to it. In all her blonde, ponytailed fury, Betty steps up and slaps Reggie across the face. The resounding crack can barely be heard above the steady thumping of music and even people on the other side of the room they’re in aren’t paying attention and missed the grand event.

 

It appears that only those involved took notice of the slap, which is probably for the best. Reggie raises his hands up in surrender before backing away and Jughead moves forward to rub at her shoulder. She’s actually trembling with anger and he can see that her other hand is still clenched into a fist.

 

When Betty turns around to face him, there are unshed tears in her eyes. “Can we go now, please?”

 

Nodding, Jughead offers her his arm to grab onto again for them to weave through the crowd. She takes it with a grateful smile and lets him lead the way out the front door and into the fresh air. They both seem to breathe easier in the absence of drunk Riverdale teens and loud techno music.

 

“So…” starts Jughead. “Now that we’re done with that shitshow, wanna go to Pop’s?”

 

Giggling again, Betty nods. “My treat, since I dragged you to this shitshow in the first place.”

 

He wants to argue, but knows it isn’t the time. “Well, fair is fair.” Her hair is glowing in the summer night’s moonlight and her answering smile is megawatt.

 

She hangs onto Jughead’s arm the entire walk to the diner.

.

.

.

As summer draws to a close, Jughead is nearly a full pot of coffee in and neck-deep in writing down thoughts on the Blossom disappearance when he finds out Betty is finally home from her internship. The door to Pop’s swings open with a jingling of the bell and Betty appears in all her ethereal, blonde glory. Jughead’s spirits are lifted when he can see, even from across the diner, that she looks relaxed. For one wild moment, he thinks she might have come there to find him.

 

HIs hopes are dashed when Archie follows her through the door.  

 

Jughead knew she was due home sometime this week, but somehow, even though they may not count as particularly close anymore nor is he a particularly diligent texter, the absence of an “I’m home!” message from Betty stings even more than nearly two months of the cold shoulder from Archie.

 

(He supposes that’s on him, though. Several of her texts from earlier in the summer went unanswered, partially because he was too pissed at Archie to deal with anyone and partially because Jughead really did want to get over his penchant to act like a lovesick puppy around Betty.)

 

The fact that Archie magically has free time, just for Betty, after a summer of _can’t today, man_ ’s turned to complete silence makes his stomach turn. But Betty is _Betty_ and, even if Archie has succumbed to testosterone-fueled douchebaggery this summer, there’s no way she wouldn’t be happy if he came over to say hi. He _is_ hiding in the corner, so there’s a more than decent chance she completely missed him—once again, too damn good at being invisible for his own good.

 

He counts his inhales slowly, thinking how easy it might be to just pick up his laptop, walk over to their table, and nonchalantly slide in next to them. If he’s feeling really adventurous, he could choose the side Betty is sitting on. Proximity to Betty, no matter the circumstances, is always a highlight in his day.   

 

But then the door jangles open and everything following happens in slow-motion, as though Jughead truly were the invisible, omniscient observer of this scene. A brunette walks through the door, dressed to the nines in an effort to appear much older and more sophisticated than the young sixteen her fresh face betrays and her distinctly un-Riverdale appearance catches the ever-roving eye of Archie (whose taste in girls, up until today apparently, has been _every kind except Betty Cooper,_ because he’s some sort of idiot).

 

Archie, mid-sentence, cuts off whatever conversation Betty is investing too much energy into paying attention to, and stares slack-jawed. His reaction and the echoing clack of heels alerts Betty to the entire situation. Only discernible to Jughead’s keen eye, Betty goes through a myriad of emotions in quick suggestion: confusion, awe, disappointment, resignation, and then slides directly into the Betty Cooper Smile.

 

He feels a little bad, knowing that Betty probably saw this evening as the ideal opportunity to remind Archie that she is, in fact, a breathing human woman with all the attributes of every other girl he chases after. But it is Archie, after all. And while his temperament closely resembles that of a golden retriever—happy, energetic, loyal to a fault—he also is as easily distracted by shiny, beautiful girls as a retriever is by squirrels.

 

It feels a little too _Fast Times at Ridgemont High_ for him, so even though he knows he should at least catch her eye and say hello, Jughead simply packs up his bag and sneaks out the door while Betty is introducing herself to the new girl.

 

Maybe next time, he sighs to himself. Maybe next time.

.

.

.

Jughead is loathe to show any amount of support for activities that engender school spirit. Nobody should care that much about the concrete and brick hellhole they’re subjected to for four years of state-mandated algebra and learning comprehension tests.

 

And yes, even showing up to a football game for less than twenty minutes counts as “support” in Jughead’s book. Even if it’s ostensibly to let his childhood best friend mend some fences. But in a world where teens who were presumed drowned show up with bullet wounds to the head and where adult music teachers coerce their students into relationships, some allowances must be made.

 

“To be discussed,” Jughead tells Archie, when he asks if they’re still friends. “Over many burgers, and many days.”    

 

It would have been easy to disappear afterward, do what he does best and blend into the background until nobody remembers he was ever there. But Jughead is too morbidly curious for his own good and he wants to see what a pep rally for a dead kid looks like.

 

And, well. He’d seen that Betty made the Vixens this year.

 

They haven’t spoken much since she returned home and the school year started. Jughead knows Archie did something—unclear _what,_ exactly—to seriously upset her, and once again, it stings a little to know she didn’t come to him about it. That, and it sounds like her sister had some sort of breakdown and was sent away. That alone must be killing Betty and he wants to be there for her.

 

Betty Cooper doesn’t have a mean or passive aggressive bone in her body, so he knows she isn’t trying to teach him a lesson. He’s fairly certain that his own radio silence upset her but she was too polite to say anything. And since he and Archie weren’t on speaking terms, she must have assumed Jughead was freezing them out on purpose.

 

He really screwed himself by taking Archie’s cold shoulder too personally. Not that he _would_ , but if he were sleeping with his high school teacher, he probably wouldn’t hang around his childhood friends either.

 

Archie showed some growth and apologized to him, so Jughead figures it’s only par for the course that he do the same and go talk to Betty. For Betty Cooper’s smile, he is willing to suffer through a Friday night pep rally.

 

He doesn’t get a smile specifically for him, but she does get to see the way her face lights up as the cheerleaders perform their complicated choreography under the field lights. After seeing how decimated she was last year from Cheryl’s cruelty, Jughead is proud of Betty for literally facing her demons and trying again.

 

Despite everything going on, Betty looks happy. And it’s not the patented Cooper Smile, the _we must appear absolutely perfect all the time_ smile that he’s seen her put on too many times to count. Jughead finds the entire concept of cheerleading to be ridiculous and serving the overall issue of school spirit and it’s chauvinistic the way the Vixens essentially exist to make the Bulldogs’ lives easier and about twelve other things—but if it means Betty has a chance to break out of her shell and find herself and maybe genuinely smile on a regular basis, then Jughead can live with it.

 

(Plus, he thinks she looks _very nice_ in the cheer skirt. So sue him.)  

.

.

.

“I’m hoping you’ll come write for the Blue and Gold!”

 

The look on her face is so earnest as she leans over the rickety desk in a defunct school newspaper office. Betty Cooper, asking him to help her revive a dying art form at a high school where nobody gives a shit about anything, let alone print journalism.

 

Betty Cooper, asking him to spend infinitely more time with him. In a crappy, poorly lit room in Riverdale High. Asking him to investigate a murder with her. Calling him _Juggie._ Saying, “Nothing ever bad was supposed to happen here, but it did. And I want to know why,” so softly and genuinely that there was never any way Jughead would say no.  

 

(Because he, too, wants to know why Jason Blossom wound up shot dead in the bottom of Sweetwater River. Something strange is going on in Riverdale and it’s something he missed, even among all his endless observations. And if Betty is asking him to help her figure out what’s going on, he simply cannot deny her of her childhood dream of becoming Nancy Drew. He just hopes he eventually could be a better Ned than Ned himself. It’s all a work in progress.)

 

As simple and assured as the sun rising every morning, Jughead will never be able to say no to Betty. Nor would he ever want to.

 

But he can’t show all his cards at once. He needles, asking for complete creative freedom and knowing that he would never get it. It feels good when Betty, albeit circuitously, stands her ground, citing editor rights as the excuse to, he has no doubts, reformat all his lengthy prose and excessive semicolon use to meet AP standards.

 

And he’ll let her, because who is he kidding.

 

Jughead had thought his window of opportunity to salvage the remains of his friendship with Betty was closing after her summer away and his summer of isolation. And while he didn’t exactly want to set himself up for more failed relationships—platonic or otherwise—Jughead really wanted to keep Betty in his life. (Platonically or otherwise.)

 

The window is sliding back open. The choice is simple. “I’m in,” he tells her.

 

Her answering smile lights up the entire dingy room.

.

.

.

Every moment Jughead spends with Betty in the Blue & Gold offices to craft their murderboard or at Pop’s discussing alibis and motives over coffee only confirms to him that his childhood crush on Betty has evolved into a full-blown _definitely falling for her_ kind of situation.

 

He was firmly in denial, choosing to blame it on childhood nostalgia or the way Betty can make anybody feel important with a single smile and conversation, until Trevor Brown showed up and Betty said the word _date._ After that, Jughead couldn’t keep lying to himself. The chauvinistic, green-eyed monster deep inside the pit of his stomach reared its ugly head and he heard the bite in his voice when he tells her, “You _just_ called it a date.” He sees Kevin’s narrowed eyes flick in his direction and knows that he tipped his hand.

 

It’s one thing if Betty wound up with Archie; that ending was always so inevitable that Jughead couldn’t have even let himself be mad about it. But if she dates anybody else, anybody _not_ Archie, he’ll kick himself until the end of time because that meant there might have been a sliver of a chance it could have been him. He thinks there might be something: the way Betty started sitting next to him in the booth at Pop’s instead of Archie, or goes just a little too easy on him when she’s editing his articles, holds his gaze during a smile for a beat longer than usual.

 

Things have started to feel different.

 

(Or, he’d really thought they had. When she suggested _Rebel Without a Cause_ for the last Twilight show and Jughead agreed, he thought his friendly neighborhood Hitchcock blonde might show up for one last show. That she might camp out in the projection room with him for old time’s sake. And maybe, _just maybe,_ Jughead might pull his shit together enough to ask Betty if she felt things changing the way he had. Granted, the Archie and Grundy situation had imploded that night as well and then he was marginally more concerned about where he was going to sleep at night. But still.)

 

Theoretically, it shouldn’t be that hard to do something about this. If Betty could put her heart on the line to tell Archie how she felt (with disastrous results, admittedly, but thank god for that), then surely he could make an effort to do the same with her.

 

Jughead still prefers observing the world from his position on the outskirts. It’s safer. Less chance of getting burned.

 

Betty Cooper makes him want to step closer to it anyway.

.

.

.

Jughead never imagined the first time he’d put on a suit for Betty would be for a funeral.

 

He gets that weird feeling in his stomach again when she asks him to pick her up and walk over to Thornhill together, even if it’s only because they made sleuthing plans—he will _not_ call them butterflies, even if that’s the closest approximation. Jughead Jones is not turning into a twelve-year-old girl with a puppy-love crush for Betty Cooper.

 

He’s just a sixteen-year-old moron falling in love with a childhood best friend. Totally different ball game.

 

There’s an obstacle of deep shame to overcome before asking Mr. Andrews if there’s an old suit of his or Archie’s he can borrow. There’s probably some neighbor in Sunnyside with a son or grandson closer to his size but that would mean broaching the distinct radius he is trying to keep from his dad and the Jones trailer. So he waits until he knows Archie is at football practice, duct-tapes the lock his Riverdale High secret entrance (just to be safe), and walks across town.

 

Fred doesn’t ask why Jughead isn’t going to his dad, for which he is infinitely grateful. That isn’t a conversation he’s exactly willing to have yet. There’s still a degree of pity tingeing his eyes, though, when Fred tells says to help himself to the pizza in the kitchen while he looks in the closet.

 

“The jacket might be a little big,” he calls out. “But I think this is your best bet, Jug.” Jughead accepts the garment bag gratefully and gets an, “Any time, Jughead. You know that.” in response. (He does. Mostly.)

 

The jacket _is_ a little too big in the shoulders and the sleeves fall a few inches past his wrists. The knot in his tie is crooked because no matter how many damn times he watched the tutorial on his small phone screen with the last vestiges of his data plan, he just couldn’t get it straight.

 

It’s making him second guess himself. He should look better for Betty. She deserves somebody who can do better.

 

But the alarm on his phone is going off, reminding him he needs to go. There’s not enough time to get into the pity party he’s careening toward. As always, he’ll have to make do. When the phone screen lights up, he also sees two text messages from Betty.

 

 **Betty:** You’re still okay walking over with me, right?

 **Betty:** I think my parents are at the Register and I’m still getting ready, so just come upstairs when you get here!

 

Jughead taps out a brief _heading over now_ , slips his beanie on over freshly combed hair, and steels himself for the belly of the beast—at Thornhill _and_ at the Cooper house. Come what may.

 

The inside of the Coopers’ home is exactly as he remembers it, despite not having set foot inside in at least three years. Prim and proper and everything in its place. Betty’s door is open and he can see a glimpse of the pink walls he knows so well from their youth. Posters and art obscure some of the color, making Jughead grin. Sometimes the best rebellions are the quiet ones.

 

With a gentle clear of his throat and knock on the door frame, Jughead steps into Betty’s room. She gives him such a wide smile that he feels as though he could melt into the floor out of happiness and relief. Still sheepish and—again—blushing like a schoolgirl, he nervously sticks his hands in his pockets and caveats, “It’s the best I could do.”

 

They appraise each other from across the room. He glows with pride at her satisfied once-over and then gives himself a little extra time to look at her. Some of her hair is down from its usual ponytail in soft waves, giving her a more relaxed look to go with the out of the ordinary black attire. Her jacket does seem to have sparkles, or something, on it, so there’s still a touch of the Betty he knows (and _loves_ , he mentally sighs) showing through.

 

It’s the moments like these that push Jughead into thinking maybe he’s not crazy. Maybe she really does feel the same way. Betty doesn’t look at him that way she used to look at Archie, but then again, that’s not the kind of non-platonic love he’d want from her. If this happens, Jughead wants—needs—it to be real. Serious. He doesn’t think he could do it any other way. Not with Betty. She’s the axis his world spins on but he just doesn’t know how to tell her that.  

.

.

.

The day Jughead accompanies Betty to find Polly, she looks on the verge of tears and ready to crack at any moment. He knows how hard it’s been on her to be away from her sister and to not know what’s going on. It takes every ounce of strength not to grab Betty’s hand and pull her to him, shield her from all of the chaos threatening to break free.

 

They’ve spent so much time together lately that Jughead feels more in tune with her than ever before. On the bus ride over, he can pinpoint the exact moment when Betty goes from stressed to scared, leg jiggling nervously and then going deathly still. In his periphery, he sees her hands clench.

 

“Betts,” he nudges her shoulder lightly. When she looks over to him, her eyes are filled with tears. Jughead pulls one ear bud out and hands it to her, feeling them both calm just a hair when she accepts it with a shaking hand. They stay that way all the way to Sisters of Quiet Mercy, Betty resting her head again his shoulder and Jughead trying to clear a sudden lump from his throat.

 

Inside the Catholic house of horrors, Jughead keeps close to her in an effort to settle his own nerves as much as hers. He can see the way her shoulders tighten and loosen based on how close he stands and how they inch closer to her ears when the steely-eyed nun at the visitors’ desk instructs him to stay behind.

 

On instinct, he reaches out for her hand. Betty grasps his back tightly.

 

It’s painful pacing around the spooky hallway, imagining a hundred different scenarios of what Betty’s walking into. What he doesn’t even consider is any of those scenarios blasting into a million smithereens by the wild fury of Alice Cooper. When Betty’s mother bursts through the heavy doors, the crash echoes loudly through the stone halls. She doesn’t cast a wayward glance at him before berating the nun at the desk but when he pulls out his cell phone to send Betty a warning there’s a sharp, “Don’t even _think_ about it, Mr. Jones,” that has him freezing on the spot.

 

There’s no service anyway but his chest tightens on Betty’s behalf.

 

Everything following that is a blur; Alice yells, Betty’s tears stream down her face, Jughead tries to hug her before Alice steers them all through the doorway, running into Polly, more tears, more _screaming,_ Betty reaching for Polly and being held back by Alice, Jughead not even hesitating to launch himself in her direction and needing to do anything to keep Betty safe.    

 

Afterward, Alice tells him in no uncertain terms to find his own way home because she needs to have words with her youngest daughter. Betty protests vehemently, still crying and now clutching onto Jughead’s arm. He wraps her in a hug, feeling the sobs shake his own body. There’s an arched eyebrow and a huff. He gets relegated to the backseat of Mrs. Cooper’s station wagon where he spends the whole drive back to Riverdale wishing he could be closer to Betty to comfort her in any way possible. Jughead just needs to know she’s okay.

.

.

.

Hours later, Jughead paces around Pop’s parking lot. He drank too much coffee waiting to hear back from Betty and then was so full of nervous energy he nearly broke his no exercise policy to run it all off.

 

After three laps walking around the entire town, Jughead ends up back on Elm Street—sitting in the Andrews’ backyard and squinting at Betty’s window, trying to make out if she’s up there. He’s telling himself that Alice probably took away her phone because the alternative that Betty doesn’t want to talk to him after letting him see her in disaster mode is too painful to bear.

 

How he got here, Jughead doesn’t know. Well, he does. He’s leaning against a literal picket fence, hoping against hope, that he isn’t being ignored by a girl he thinks he loves. Nevermind that mere weeks before, Jughead was close to isolating himself so fully that he would become the town’s resident observer because it seemed easier than opening himself up to more rejection.

 

He shouldn’t be so surprised. He’s know Betty forever, knows how good she is at wearing people down. She single handedly convinced Mrs. Hannity to get a class pet in the second grade, argued her way into getting the maximum checkout quantity at the library raised to fifteen. She’s the girl who slapped Reggie Mantle for being rude, who stood up for a brand new friend and countless other girls against rampant sexism on the sports teams, who’s tirelessly searching for a murderer and tracked down her MIA sister in the process.

 

She’s Betty Cooper. Of course he’s head over goddamn heels in love with her.

 

And if the past few days have been any indication, maybe Betty Cooper likes him back. Maybe it could actually be that simple for once.

 

 _Simple_ , he tells himself as he spies Fred’s ladder resting against the side of the house. _Simple_ , as he hoists it up and balances it precariously to traipse over to the Cooper house.

 

 _Simple,_ when it rests lightly just under the large window that looks into Betty’s room.

It could actually be this easy. Jughead counts under his breath before placing one foot and then the other and starts to climb.

 

_One._

_Two._

_Three._    

**Author's Note:**

> please, please, pretty please leave a comment if you enjoyed! it really means the world!
> 
> find me on tumblr under the same name


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